


Moonheart

by claudemonet



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Vampire! Hermione, creature! Hermione
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-03-27 04:34:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13873236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claudemonet/pseuds/claudemonet
Summary: When Hermione Granger was nine-years-old, she was Turned in the woods beside her house. Her life, turned on it's head, is going to be drastically different than what she'd planned.





	1. O, Death

It wasn’t really warm enough outside to play. There was a thick, gray covering of clouds that blocked out the sun’s rays, and a chilly breeze on the air. It was unusual weather for July, a month that should have been filled with scorching days, but seldom did the weather do what it was supposed to. However, the cloudy skies and lack of warm sun didn’t stop Hermione Granger from burning off the everlasting energy all nine-year-olds seemed to have by running around in the field surrounding her house. Beatrice and Oliver Granger had decided long, long ago that they really weren’t suited for city life and had moved to the country to raise their only child. Their home was set far back from the road and concealed by a thick throng of trees; surrounding the house was a wide expanse of grass, which was edged by a forest that didn’t stop for kilometers. Their closest neighbor was more than a fifteen minute’s drive away. It was perfect for them.

Hermione was playing near the edge of the woods, where the grass grew tall and gnarled tree roots stuck out waiting to trip up an unsuspecting victim. She was pretending to be an explorer, bravely venturing into the wild in order to discover new lands. Her parents were laying in a hammock precariously strung up between two trees near the house. They had wrapped themselves up in a thick fleece blanket and were sipping on mugs of hot tea, checking up on their daughter every few minutes. The Grangers weren’t worried she would be hurt. Nobody really came around their secluded property, and Hermione was smart enough to stay clear of wild animals she saw roaming about.

Hermione had just started to feel the day’s chill. Looking up into the cloudy sky, she knew the sun would set soon. It was just after eight, according the the cheap little watch she’d gotten from a cereal box. Reasonably contented with the day’s made-up adventures, she was going to start heading back towards her parents when her gaze was inexplicably drawn towards the tree line. Someone was standing between two tall oaks, watching her with a curious look on their face. Hermione paused, a thousand thoughts about stranger danger racing through her mind.

The person - a man, she thought, but the elbow-length, curly blonde hair certainly reminded her of a woman- smiled invitingly and Hermione beamed back, every thought of potential trouble leaving her mind at once. Nobody that beautiful could hurt her. Not this man, she thought, walking forward as if in a trance when he beckoned her closer. He was so lovely, with hair like a doll’s, deep blue eyes, and clothes like something out of a Victorian drama. Some far away part of her fancied he was a prince, lost in time and fallen right into her backyard. The man stepped further back into the woods, casting a long shadow across his face, and Hermione hesitated for a moment, a sudden fear curdling in her stomach. But then he tilted his head, and reached a hand out and she took it obediently, unfathomably enthralled despite everything telling her to go back, to run away. His hands were freezing and his grip was strong, and Hermione frowned at the sudden shock of cold.

Her parents looked up just as she disappeared into the trees.

The woods around them were absolutely silent. No bird sang, no cricket chirped; even the wind had ceased rustling through the treetops. Everything had fled in the face of this man, beautiful and terrible, guiding Hermione through the trees. A deep anxiety settled into her stomach, but Hermione couldn’t find the will to break away from him. Her mind felt like the sun obscured by a cloud, foggy and dim. Something about him captivated her, held her prisoner as he led her by the hand to a small clearing. Her heart dropped as they stopped, and she stared resolutely at the ground. If she ignored him for long enough, perhaps he would leave.

“My name is Pascal,” he told her. His accent was faintly French, and he lifted her chin with one pale finger, forcing her to look into his timeless face. “What is your name, little lamb?”

Hermione could practically hear her mother screaming at her to not answer, to run from this…thing. He was not a man. There was nothing human about him, she could feel that in her bones. Despite all of this, she couldn’t help but to answer him, words practically clawing their way out of her mouth. “Hermione,” she whispered in a small voice. “My name is Hermione.”

“Hermione,” he tested the name on his tongue. “I am so sorry, my dear,” he said to her, but there was no sincerity in his voice. Pascal flashed a wicked smile, one that revealed all of his teeth and Hermione’s heart jumped into her throat. Two long, sharp white fangs glistened in his mouth and she could only let out half a scream before he plunged them into her throat, cutting her scream into a choked gasp. A hot, burning pain lanced through her neck. She struggled against him, but he was impossibly strong. His arms formed an iron cage around her that she was trapped in like a little bird. Hermione’s vision began to fog as Pascal’s teeth dug further into her neck, bringing up a fresh flood of blood.

A woman’s sharp voice rang out, “No!” and suddenly, Pascal was ripped away from her, his fangs torn from her neck, opening a long red gash in her throat. The momentum threw her down too, and Hermione crumpled into the summer grass, lying on her back hardly able to breathe but for short, desperate pants. She was dizzy, confused and the world churned around her even as she laid still. Above her, she could see the gray sky turning pinkish-orange as the sun started to set. Her blood welled up in the wounds, trickling down the side of her neck and into the grass. Hermione was bleeding out.

The blood came out at a rate that Hermione couldn’t think was normal, even in her hazy delirium. It pumped out, fast and hot, pooling around her like water. Her whole body was burning…

“She’s turning,” a man’s low, curt voice said to her left and Hermione tried to turn her head, but the pain was too much. She screamed again as a fresh wave of pain swept over her. Pascal’s laugh was muffled, but she still heard it and she couldn’t help but let out a wail as humiliation and agony coursed through her.  
Hermione was only distantly aware of her parents breaking into the small clearing, having run all the way from the house to the woods. Her mother was crying, her father was screaming and demanding to know what was going on, all the while a woman knelt next to her, whispering things that meant nothing to Hermione. Everything hurt and felt far away, like she was on the verge of falling asleep and flying all at once…

With great difficulty, Hermione managed to turn her head. She wanted to see her parents, was dying to see them. Her mother’s face was broken, her red-rimmed eyes streaming constant tears.

“Mummy,” Hermione managed, her voice cracking and her mother sobbed all the harder, rushing forward and collapsing next to Hermione, even as her daughter’s vision faded black.

* * *

 

Hermione opened her eyes and growled deep in her throat. The noise was low and inhuman, not at all the sound a nine-year-old girl should be making. She made to sit up, but was forced back to the floor by two strong hands. The floor…had the woods been a dream? A dizzying sensation swept over her, the feeling of waking up unsure if your surroundings were real. It was quickly overcome by a deep, horrible thirst.

A woman, dark-eyed and beautiful, loomed over her. Those were her hands and knees holding her to the floor, keeping her from from tearing through flesh to the sweet prize running in blue veins. This woman was an enemy, her eyes marked her as such. Anyone who kept her from the blood that was right there, pumped by a strong heart, ripe for the taking, was an enemy. Her mouth ached with longing and Hermione let out a guttural wail, pleading to be let loose.

“Open your mouth,” the woman commanded and Hermione could smell it, blood, fresh coppery blood, dripping from a newly opened vein. She struggled to break free so she could get to the source, suck it dry, slake the overwhelming thirst. The woman pinning her down was relentless, crushing her most flail-able limbs to the floor, effectively blocking any escape. “Open your mouth,” the woman repeated. Hermione did, spurred on by the same inexplicable thrall that Pascal had had.

A wrist, human and pale and bleeding bright red, was held over her open mouth. Sharp, salty blood dripped onto her tongue. Hermione sighed, blissful as the burning began to sate itself. Several minutes passed, the only movements Hermione made being those with her tongue, lapping at the blood that had missed her open mouth and landed on her lips or chin. Finally, she closed her mouth and the wrist was promptly removed. Hermione blinked slowly, feeling her mind slowly coming back to her.

She sat up with a start, and found herself face-to-face with the strange woman, whose expression was very serious. Hermione vaulted backwards and found herself much further back than she intended, having somehow pushed herself most of the way across the living room. She looked around wildly, a deep panic settling into her bones. Her mother was standing to the side, wrapping a bandage around her wrist as she watched Hermione with wide, worried eyes. Her father stood beside her mother, an arm wrapped around her waist and the same protective look on his face. Dried blood stained his cotton button-down shirt.

“What happened to me?” Hermione whispered, remembering the woods, remembering Pascal and his otherworldly beauty, remembering bleeding out in the grass. “What happened? Why- how am I still alive? I thought I was dying…”

“You were, in a sense,” the unfamiliar woman said. Her voice was lovely, and low, like Pascal’s had been, and she was just as beautiful as he was. Hermione pinned her with a wary gaze, unwilling to trust someone who was so much like her attacker. “You are not technically alive even now.”

“I don’t understand,” Hermione said, her voice cracking. “I…he bit me, that…man, bit me! Where did he go? Did you call the police?”

“He’s gone, sweetheart,” her mother said softly and Hermione’s head turned to her so fast she thought she might have whiplash. “He’s gone.”

Hermione bit her lip and buried her head in her lap. All of her senses had been amplified to an almost overwhelming degree. Her parents’ hearts beat like drums in their chests, pumping hot blood through their bodies. A deep breath through her nose told her exactly what the room’s occupants were feeling; fear and anxiety rolled off her parents in waves, while a sort of ready, on-edge tenseness emanated from the woman she didn’t recognize. From across the room, Hermione could see her mother’s pulse jumping in her neck, only the slightest tremors just beneath the skin giving away the tempting beat. And her mouth itched. She’d not thought that was possible.

“What’s wrong with me?” she cried out. “Why…why can I hear and see and smell everything? Why didn’t I die, why…,” and here she swallowed, afraid and a little nauseous. “Why did you feed me her blood? Why did he take mine?” And why did she want more? Hermione’s eyes flicked to her mother, on the bandage wrapped around her wrist. The smell of blood still laid heavy in the room, like the scent of rain clung to the air after a thunderstorm.

“Thirsty again?” the woman asked, a knowing look on her face. Hermione glared at her. “It’s perfectly natural for you to feel all of those things, although it can be overwhelming at first,” she said soothingly. She was telling the truth, and Hermione knew it even if she couldn’t pinpoint why. It was something in the way her emotions came off of her. “You’ll learn to filter out all but the most important things in time.”

“Who are you?” Hermione demanded. “Why did he bite me?” Her hand flew up to her throat instinctively, but all she felt was her own, smooth skin. She rubbed it hesitantly. It felt mostly normal, if not a bit firmer than she was used to. There was nothing where there should have been two deep, violent puncture wounds. What happened in the woods couldn’t have been a dream; her mum had said that Pascal was gone, and that meant he had to have existed, at the very least.

“My name is Elisaveta,” the woman said. Her dark eyes met Hermione’s and she smiled a bit sadly. “It was a terrible thing for Pascal to bite you. Sebastian and I have been tracking him for weeks, trying to turn him into the Ministry for his crimes. Unfortunately, we didn’t get there fast enough to stop him, but we did get there in time to keep him from killing you.”

“I don’t understand,” she said blankly, confusion swirling in her mind. How could she not be alive, when she was sitting on her living room floor, breathing and aware? She looked around the room, wondering if she had somehow ended up in a weird limbo, but everything was the same from the bright blue couch to the bookshelf arranged by alphabetical order.

“What do you remember?” her father asked, his voice gentle and worried.

Hermione wracked her brain. Everything felt like a dream, like some nightmare she’d woken up from with only the fuzziest memories.

“I remember following him into the woods,” she said slowly. “He took me to the clearing…asked my name, told me his, and then he…he bit me, here,” she brought her hand up to her neck again, brushing over the spot where Pascal had plunged his fangs into her throat. “Then I heard someone yell, ’No,’, and Pascal was gone, and I fell.” Hermione’s eyebrows drew together as she relayed the next part of her story. “My blood…it felt like it was burning up inside of me. And it was coming out so fast… I saw both of you,” she said, looking to her parents, “right before I passed out.”

“Before you died,” Elisaveta corrected her gently. “You died, Hermione. You’re alive now because Pascal turned you.”

Hermione could only stare at her. She didn’t have a reply for being told that she had died in the woods behind her house. She looked to her parents, whose eyes shone with tears. She turned back to Elisaveta, who pressed onwards despite Hermione’s total lack of response.

“What can you feel inside yourself?” Elisaveta urged, dark eyes boring into her own. “Your heart- can you feel it’s beat?”

Hermione took a few seconds to concentrate, and she felt nothing. She held a hand over her chest where her heart was, feeling desperately for the tell-tale thump-thump that would match her parents own heartbeats, but there was nothing. Her chest was empty, no longer a beating drum. Frantic (shouldn’t her panic have made her heart beat fast and loud?), Hermione scrambled to check her pulse on her wrist, but still there was nothing. Just firm skin, paler than she remembered being.

“What’s wrong with me?” Her voice was rising in hysteria. “I can’t feel anything!”

Elisaveta strode forward and knelt next to Hermione, taking her hand and placing it where Elisaveta’s heart laid in her chest. Hermione’s lips parted in surprise when she felt nothing. There was no beat, no steady rhythm that would mark her as a fully alive human being. It was like she’d put her hand against a wall.

“We are the same,” Elisaveta said gently, releasing Hermione’s hand. “I’m here to help you, little one.” She cupped her face, running a thumb over her cheekbone.

“Listen to me when I tell you this. You have joined an ancient and powerful race. Though you did not choose to, that is what you are now.”

“What...what am I, then?” Hermione whispered, even as she was afraid of the answer.

“You are a vampire,” Elisaveta said simply, dark eyes boring into Hermione’s.

Hermione let out a startled laugh, looking to her parents as if to ask, ‘Is she serious?’ When they only gazed back and nodded slowly at her, she shook her head. Elisaveta’s hand slipped off her face and Hermione glared at the older woman.

“I’m not stupid,” she said, scowling. “I know vampires aren’t real.” Hermione reached out and pushed the woman away lightly, not wanting her to be in her personal space a moment longer. Elisaveta flew backwards across the floor as though she’d been thrown by an invisible force and Hermione’s parents gasped. Chuckling, Elisaveta managed to somehow climb to her feet, even as she came sliding to a stop on the wood floor. Hermione could only look from the woman to her hands, pale and small and frail-looking, not at all capable of shoving a grown woman across the room with just a light push.

“Not real?” Elisaveta asked, amused. “You were bitten by a man with fangs. Your heart does not beat, your blood burned itself up in your body. When you woke, you thirsted and it was only sated by one thing: blood. You can hear even the smallest fly’s wings, and smell your parent’s concern. I’ll bet your mouth is itching because your fangs want to push through. What do you think you are?”

Hermione stared at her for a few moments, then began to cry in earnest, not wanting to believe her words. Everything was too much. Her mother rushed forward, knelt next to her, and wrapped her in a hug. Hermione threw herself into her mother’s arms, relishing in the utter warmth she provided. She took a deep, hiccoughing breath and was hit with several scents all at once: chocolate, chai tea, lavender, laundry detergent, the welcoming scent of utter love, and running underneath it all, blood. All she could do was cry harder. Her father knelt beside them, wrapping an arm around both Hermione and his wife. Hermione took another deep breath, letting the smell of aftershave, spices, love love love, and again, the telltale scent of blood, wash over her. They held her while she cried, and eventually, she fell asleep like that, still exhausted from her changing.

“I thought you said she wouldn’t sleep as much, and she only would in the daylight,” Beatrice said, stroking a hand over her daughter’s wild curls. They’d been frizzy just that morning, but had somehow relaxed. She looked to Elisaveta in question.

The vampire woman nodded. “That is true,” she said. “I had forgotten what it is like for new vampires. All they want to do is eat, and sleep, because their bodies are still tired from dying and rising. She will be like this for a few weeks, but her sleep cycles will get shorter until they disappear completely.”

Oliver scooped up his daughter, careful not to wake her. She was ice-cold, like a corpse. “I’ll carry her up to her room,” he said. “It’s gotten late, though. Beatrice and I are going to bed…”

“I will watch over her,” Elisaveta promised. “You have my word.”

Neither adult particularly wanted to leave their daughter alone with the vampire woman. They hardly knew her, and had found her kneeling over Hermione’s dead body earlier that day. But it was the only choice at this point. They were exhausted, and it was nearly three in the morning, having stayed up worrying over their daughter’s cooling body. Only once they’d seen Hermione’s wound healing and her visage changing in the slightest ways had they finally begun to believe the strange woman from the woods: their daughter would live (in a sense), but be changed forever.

They would love her no matter what those changes brought.

Oliver carried her up the stairs, Beatrice by his side. Elisaveta stayed downstairs to give them some privacy, though Oliver was certain she would hear them regardless with her advanced hearing. Beatrice opened the door for him, and he stepped into Hermione’s room, depositing her on the bed. Beatrice slipped off her shoes and socks while he pulled the down comforter up around her.

“She’s still our little girl,” Beatrice said, gripping his hand hard as they stood over the sleeping child. “Still our Hermione.”

Oliver nodded, gazing down at his daughter. She looked different, more beautiful than before and pale as milk, but she was and always would be their baby.

“Let’s go to bed,” he murmured, tugging his wife’s hand gently. “She’ll need us in the morning.”

Beatrice gave their daughter one last lingering look before she followed her husband into their bedroom and turned in for the night.

Downstairs, Elisaveta gazed out the back window, deep in thought. Hermione was one of the youngest vampires she’d ever met. Elisaveta herself had been turned when she was just twelve, but was blessed enough to be a witch as well and her body forced itself to grow in order to be able to contain her magic; she’d aged until reaching magical maturity, when the magic inside of her had stopped growing. For her, it had been around the age of twenty-five, although it had been nearly a hundred and fifty years since then, so she wasn’t quite sure. Otherwise, she’d have been stuck as a twelve-year-old forever. Some vampires were cursed as such, and existed as children for all their lives. Elisaveta knew Hermione was a witch; she could smell the magic, different from a vampire’s innate magic, swirling inside of her. Not that her life would be easy even though she would age; no, Elisaveta thought grimly, little Hermione had quite a long, difficult road ahead of her. Being a vampire was, in many ways, a blessing, but it was also very much a curse. Watching her brothers and sisters age and die while she remained young, only being able to make friends with other immortals and creatures after her attack, had been agonizing. Her wand was snapped by the Russian ministry, and she’d been forcibly withdrawn from Koldovstoretz, the magical Russian academy her entire family had attended.

Then there were Pascal’s troubling parting words. He’d struggled, screamed to get to the girl laying in the grass. He’d insisted that, as her sire, he alone had the right to raise and teach her. When they’d denied him that, he’d said, voice low and strained, “I turned her for a reason, you know. I knew you would be there, I could smell you on the wind.” He’d bared his teeth, still rusty with Hermione’s blood. At the time, Elisaveta had dismissed it as the ramblings of a broken vampire, trying every resort to free himself before Sebastian gave him up to the Ministry to execute. But now, part of her wondered about it. Hermione had been remarkably in control after her first feeding- most newly turned vampires would have torn through home after home before they were satisfied. It was unsettling.

Yes. Hermione Granger did have a difficult life ahead of her, but she would not be without help. Elisaveta had to herself in the forest, staring down at the broken child whose hair fanned out around her like a curly brown halo, that she would help Hermione in any way she could as she grew and learned how to exist as a vampire.

* * *

 

Hermione did not wake again until nearly noon the next day. She blinked her eyes, the drowsiness being quickly chased away by a deep thirst. It burned at her throat like acid and her mouth ached as two, sharp little fangs grew from her teeth. Downstairs she could hear two, steady heart-beats and she flew up from her bed, ready to attack and drink and kill-

Just as quickly as she stood, Hermione was thrown back into her bed. She snarled, struggling to break free. She was strong, nearly succeeding in pushing her captor off of her, but was quickly forced into submission as another person pinned her arms down.  
“Feisty,” an amused, male voice came and Hermione craned her neck to look at him. She could smell blood, but it wasn’t coming from him. It was from a glass he held in his hand, clear to show off the bright red liquid it contained. The blood in the glass captivated her interest immediately, and she struggled against the two of them to get at it.

“You’re getting stronger each time you wake up,” a woman- Elisaveta, she remembered- complained. “Sebastian, give her the glass.”

The man raised a dark brow at her and held the glass to her lips. Hermione opened her mouth and drank eagerly, calming as her thirst was quenched by the smooth, savory liquid. It wasn’t fresh, and she could taste that, but it wasn’t terrible either.

“Not fresh,” Elisaveta said, confirming her observation. “But close. Your father was kind enough to do this a few hours ago. We wanted to catch you before you tore through your house in search of a food source.”

Sebastian pulled the glass from her as she emptied it and set it on her night stand. Eyeing her warily, he released her arms. Elisaveta let her up, too, and she sat up with a frown.

“So this wasn’t all a dream?” she asked hopefully.

Elisaveta smiled sadly. “Unfortunately not, but Sebastian and I are here to answer your questions. I will be with you for quite a bit longer than Sebastian, however, to help you along in getting adjusted to being a vampire.”

“What happened to Pascal?” Hermione asked immediately, eyebrows drawn together. He couldn’t come back for her and finish the job, could he?

“I was the one who took Pascal off of you,” Sebastian said, and Hermione took a good look at him for the first time. He was tall, and slim, with dark hair combed and gelled away from his forehead neatly. He, like Pascal and Elisaveta, was beautiful in an almost unearthly way. He had warm brown skin, dark eyes, and a strong Spanish accent. “I brought him to the Ministry.”

“The Ministry,” Hermione repeated. “Is that like Parliament?”

Judging by the look Elisaveta and Sebastian exchanged, Hermione had a lot of things that needed to be explained to her. Her heart sank at the thought. Usually she would be jumping at the chance to learn about something new and exciting, but knowing that this was her reality rather than a fanciful foray into someone else’s world made her more than a little apprehensive.

The next few days continued in a routine manner of Hermione falling asleep, waking up wild with thirst, and then being ushered back to bed, with bits of information fed to her at a time from either Elisaveta and Sebastian, or her parents. It was only when she began staying awake longer, and sleeping shorter times in between that her lessons in vampiric life really began.

Elisaveta first explained the existence of the magical, hidden world Hermione and her parents had previously been ignorant to. Witches and wizards lived in their world, walled off from the rest of society. They had a government, called the Ministry of Magic, which created magical laws in Britain, and a higher level of government, the International Confederation of Wizards. When Elisaveta informed her that yes, dragons and werewolves and goblins and trolls all really did exist, Hermione spent the rest of her time awake that day questioning her about the magical world. It was so new and not vampiric, thus not pertaining any information on why Hermione was craving blood, so it was what she wanted to hear about. Elisaveta only let her get away with that for a day or so.

When starting to get into the vampire specific lessons, Elisaveta started with what they were, first and foremost: predators. Highly advanced, sentient, predators that had human emotions and desires, but predators all the same. Then she went on to explain that vampires were no longer considered human, not really.

“But I am human,” Hermione insisted tearfully one day, holding out her arms to show her, to say ‘Look! Arms and legs, I must be a human!’ but Elisaveta shook her head sadly.

“No, child,” she said gently, cupping Hermione’s face in her hand, stroking a thumb across the top of her cheekbone in comfort. “We are not human. Vampires are man’s enemy. We eat them, they hunt us. That’s not the way it is anymore, we don’t hunt and in return, we aren’t hunted, but still: we are not human. And we are not monsters, so keep that silly notion out of your pretty little head.”

“What are we then?” Hermione demanded, crossing her arms over her chest. “Who says we aren’t human?”

“We are vampires, technically classified as ‘beings’ by the Ministry of Magic,” Elisaveta explained. “That means that we have sufficient intelligence to understand magical laws and that we bear responsibility in helping shape those laws.”

It would take time for Hermione to fully understand that no, she really wasn’t human. Humans were alive or they were dead; she was living dead.

Elisaveta’s teachings about vampires grew from horrifying Hermione to captivating her. Her parents often sat in, listening almost as attentively as Hermione did while

Elisaveta explained vampire’s abilities and weaknesses.

“We are very strong, stronger than any human could hope to be, and faster than them, too. All of our senses are more heightened than theirs, most especially sight, hearing, and scent,” Elisaveta smiled at Hermione’s wide, eager eyes. She could tell the young vampire was ready to test out her newfound strengths, but Elisaveta wouldn’t let her off the short leash she was on for quite some time. “However,” Elisaveta cautioned, “we are not impervious to damage. Although our skin is tough and impenetrable by almost any sharp object, advanced magic could wreak havoc on us. The sun won’t kill us, but it hurts. I would stay away from garlic; it will make you sneeze like none other. Pure metals, like silver and gold, burn us. Very badly.”

“I can’t go outside anymore?” Hermione asked miserably. “How will I go to school?”

“We’re not going to enroll you next year, sweetheart,” Oliver said gently, reaching out to squeeze Hermione’s hand. “You’ll be homeschooled by Elisaveta, at least for a year.”

“It’s too much of a risk to have you around so many humans so quickly,” Elisaveta said, but Hermione was hardly listening. So much had been taken from her so quickly. She couldn’t be around her parents unsupervised, she wasn’t going to be able to go out into the sun anymore, and now she couldn’t go to school in the fall. Hermione adored school! “There are ways to skirt around the sun issue, but it involves a complex spell and it will be some time before I can bring a trustworthy wizard here.”

“I know it’s not fair,” Beatrice said quietly, sensing the outburst before it came. Hermione’s eyes had narrowed and her mouth had slipped into a scowl. “But this is how it has to be for a little while, love.”

Hermione nodded, reluctant and upset but unwilling to talk back to her parents.

“Being classified as beings, vampires are not allowed to carry wands,” Elisaveta said, eyeing Hermione to see her reaction. “I was a witch before I was turned, and my wand was snapped. We as vampires have our own magic that we don’t need a wand for, but…there is untapped potential in allowing a vampire to have a wand.”

“Do you still have your witch magic?” Hermione asked curiously, leaning forward, having already forgotten about the sun issue at the mention of magic.  
Elisaveta hesitated, formulating an answer in her mind. “Yes,” she said finally. “I was twelve when I was turned, and would have stayed twelve if not for my magic, forcing my body to grow so that it could contain itself.”

Hermione gaped, at once horrified and shocked. The idea of eternity hadn’t yet settled into her young mind, but she knew that being nine always, never growing, would prove a terrible fate. “I…I’m going to be nine forever?”

Beatrice and Oliver exchanged an alarmed look. Although when she’d been born, each had wished for her to stay their tiny, fragile little child forever, they did want her to age. Being stuck as a nine-year-old would be difficult for everyone involved.

“No!” Elisaveta was quick to reassure. “I believe you’re in the situation I was in. A witch, turned into a vampire.”

Hermione frowned. She’d not noticed anything very Pagan about her before. “I’ve never done anything…witchy,” she protested.

“Yes, you have,” Beatrice interjected, staring at Hermione intently. “You’ve done some very unusual things in the past.” Elisaveta turned to Hermione in interest.

“What? No, I haven’t,” Hermione insisted. “I’ve not done anything weird before now!”

“You have, actually,” Oliver said, looking surprised at himself for agreeing. “I hadn’t remembered this before, but do you remember why you had to switch pre-schools?”

“I threw blocks at Jimmy Wallace’s head because he was making fun of my jumper,” Hermione answered promptly. “I- _oh_.”

“Yes, _oh_ ,” Beatrice retorted. “Jimmy said you didn’t even pick them up, that they just flew at him.”

“Sounds like I was correct in my assessment,” Elisaveta said, smiling widely at Hermione. “We may not be able to hold wands, but being able to grow until you reach magical maturity was worth it, at least for me.”

Hermione looked at her hands, small and frail, yet capable of throwing Elisaveta out the window. She didn’t want to be nine forever, and she was glad that she would grow, but there was something very disappointing about knowing you had all the capability and potential to be something great yet having the tool to guide you be banned from you and yours. “I hope it will be for me, too,” Hermione said finally, looking up to meet Elisaveta’s eyes. “What exactly is the punishment for carrying a wand?”

Elisaveta’s eyes glittered as she stared Hermione down. “A stint in Azkaban, I presume,” she replied, tilting her head. “Maybe a fine. I’m not sure. The wand would be snapped, in any case.”

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. “So what magic can vampires do?” she asked, recognizing the calculating look in Elisaveta’s eyes. She didn’t particularly want to think about wands and being banned from using them for a moment longer. A doorway to a new possibility had been opened and shut in just a few moments.

“There are lots of things,” Elisaveta shrugged, somehow making the motion seem elegant and casual. “Any vampire can manipulate objects, whether you bring something to you from across the room or shut a door, it can be done with a simple thought and a wave of your hand.”

“Cool,” Hermione breathed, eager to try it out. She raised a hand and, rather awkwardly, waved at a book sat on her desk. Nothing happened. Elisaveta and her parents laughed a little when Hermione glared at the book. She wanted it, in her hand, right now. Hermione waved her hand again, and it zoomed towards her. Her parents stopped laughing rather abruptly, and Elisaveta was giving her the same calculating look as before. She clutched the book to her chest, folding her arms around it like that would protect her from Elisaveta’s shrewd eyes.

“It usually takes some practice,” Elisaveta said, a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes playing around her lips. “There are other, more advanced skills. Some take years to perfect, but since vampires have thousands of years if they wish it, it’s not undoable. Flight can be achieved with great will, some can shape shift into animals, and other things involving shadow or mind manipulation.”

“Shadow manipulation?” Hermione asked, intrigued. “What’s that?”

“Vampires are associated with shadows for a good reason,” Elisaveta said. “We can manipulate them- making a brightly lit room pitch black is the easiest form of it, but I’ve seen vampires use shadows as a shield against magical onslaught from wizards.”

“Do vampires often face…onslaught from wizards?” Oliver asked worriedly.

“Sometimes, we do,” Elisaveta nodded. “Although it is illegal, vampire hunters still exist. And, although it is doubly illegal, vampires like Pascal still exist- preying on the innocent and easy to manipulate, dissatisfied with taking small amounts from volunteers.”

“It’s more illegal for a vampire to kill a human than for a human to kill a vampire?” Oliver asked, brows furrowed. He pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up on his nose. “That hardly seems fair.”

Elisaveta shrugged. “It’s the way it is. Life isn’t fair for vampires.”

Hermione stared at the book in her hands. She’d done that, summoned it to herself, with power that rested inside of her. Pascal had drawn her into the woods and changed her forever, for good or for worse. Elisaveta and Sebastian had been there, prevented her death and opened a world to her that had endless depths she could explore forever. A blessing in disguise as a traumatic event.

Hermione yawned, interrupting the discussion about justice she had spaced out of. Elisaveta left the room, though Hermione knew she’d stopped just outside the doorway, while her parents kissed her forehead and tucked her in for a nap. She watched them leave and then stared at her ceiling. Although the windows had been covered with black paper in order to keep sunlight out, her new vision allowed her to see everything clearly, even in pitch black darkness.

‘Life isn’t fair for vampires.’ Elisaveta’s words played a mantra in her mind. Hermione’s parents had worked hard to instill a sense of fairness and justice within her. She’d been a crusader for kids being picked on in school, and stood up for herself when the situation called for it. She’d been taught not to take unfair treatments lying down. But now, it looked like the government of her new world actively sought to keep equality from vampire’s grasps.

Hermione wasn’t sure yet what she thought of being a vampire. Part of it was exciting; all of her new abilities and potential and power exhilarated her. At the same time, she wouldn’t be allowed to see the sun for a long time, she couldn’t go to school, and she’d been horribly attacked on her own property. The place she considered home had gone from a safe haven to a danger zone in a matter of minutes. Something deep and irreplaceable inside of her had been broken, but she couldn’t put a finger on what it was. Nobody had told her yet what came of Pascal, only that he’d been taken to the Ministry. Was he in jail? Was he on trial? Had he walked free? What if he came back to finish the job? What was going on and why hadn’t anyone told her?

When Hermione finally fell asleep, her nightmares were fueled by Pascal’s blonde hair and blue eyes, his welcoming smile and her blood, covering the green summer grass, coating the front of her father’s button-down, burning up like a fire in her veins, and Elisaveta’s voice whispering above it all, ‘Life isn’t fair for vampires.’


	2. Moon, Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione gains control of her newfound abilities. The moon is doing something strange to her.

Hermione was allowed out of her bedroom a few days after the talk between her parents and Elisaveta. Her parents and Elisaveta had blacked out all of the windows in the house so she could move through it without fear of being burned. The only room that wasn’t blacked out was her parents’ bedroom. It wasn’t fair to them to lose the sun, Elisaveta pointed out to her one night. They were human, and needed it, whereas she and Hermione were vampires, and did not. 

 “Why weren’t you and Sebastian and Pascal hurt by the sun that day in the forest?” Hermione asked her one day while they sat in her room. 

 “Sebastian and I work with the Ministry occasionally,” Elisaveta explained. “When we take a job, a wizard casts the Sol Tueri over us– it keeps us from being hurt by the sun, and lasts for roughly a year. It will be awhile before I can find a wizard I trust enough to cast it over you.” 

 “If the Ministry knows I was bitten, why don’t they cast it over me?” Hermione thought it rather unfair. She may be a vampire, but she loved the sun and playing outdoors as much as the next child. 

 “The Ministry knows _someone_ was bitten, not _you_ specifically,” Elisaveta corrected. “The less they know, the better they feel. Besides, there is no registration requirement as there is in the United States. They need not know you were bitten. And they wouldn’t cast it over you unless you were working for them.” 

 Hermione let that go, but persisted on in her questioning. “Why wasn’t Pascal hurt, then?” 

 Elisaveta sighed. “He worked for the Ministry about six months back. A little job, scoping out some places in Knockturn Alley– that’s adjacent to Diagon, you won’t see there for a long while I hope– that a Ministry worker couldn’t. It was enough for him to get the Sol Tueri.” 

 Hermione nodded, and changed the subject. Pascal was not something she wanted to dwell on. 

 Where do you get the blood?” Hermione asked. She’d been wondering this for a few days, knowing her parents couldn’t supply it forever. 

 “Vampires run a few blood banks,” Elisaveta said. “Half of the blood goes to us, and half goes to Muggles who need it. Sebastian brings it every few days– it’s kept relatively fresh with charmed, airtight containers that we return to the blood bank after we use them.”

 “Ah,” Hermione said. That was an admittedly smart way of doing things. After all, if vampires were fed, there was less chance of them starving and attacking people.

 Those first couple of days out of her room were Hermione’s first forays into discovering what she could do as a vampire. She found she ran faster than her parents could even see, and had great fun in timing herself to see how quickly she could run through the house. She could jump from the first floor to the second _easily,_ as she smugly showed her parents each time one of them had to climb the stairs. Quite by accident, Hermione discovered she could cling to the walls and ceilings, and crawl across them like a spider. Her mother screamed the first time she’d caught her at it. These things were great fun to her, but everything else was almost overwhelming. 

Hermione heard every bird chirp, every leaf rustle; she could smell every animal in her yard; she saw every detail down to the minute. Taste was something else– it contributed heavily to her sense of smell, especially in the sense of emotions. The worst thing she smelled sometimes came from her parents: fear. It wasn’t often, but her mother had once cut herself while chopping vegetables and Elisaveta had needed to crush Hermione to the ground. Her mother’s emotions had blended into the blood and for a terrifying moment, Hermione wanted nothing more than to rip her throat out and taste that sanguine fear. 

That day was the first time Hermione realized she truly wasn’t human, and wouldn’t ever be again. That day also marked the beginning of Elisaveta and Sebastian teaching Hermione to control her thirst. 

“It is something that dulls with time,” Elisaveta explained that night. “You will eventually have full control over yourself. But you shouldn’t wait until then to get a handle on your bloodlust.” 

Sebastian came under the cover of night, and taught her to suppress the urges she had. His voice, deep and soothing, guided her through the mental process of emptying her mind. This, he explained to her, was necessary for all vampires. It was strenuous; Hermione had trouble in the beginning. When she tried to quiet her thoughts, her mind would race suddenly, tripping from thought to thought. 

“I can’t do it,” she finally said one night. They were in the living room, Hermione laid out on the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling above her. Beyond the window, she could feel the moon was fully risen. “I keep….thinking. Just of ordinary things. I don’t know how to stop it.” 

Sebastian was sitting on the love seat, cross-legged and barefoot. Hermione like him almost as much as she liked Elisaveta, which was quite a lot. “I should have explained better,” he said. “You want to empty your mind of _thoughts_. Focus on something else instead, something expansive. I think of the sea, and the currents of it push away my stray thoughts. Take a minute to think of it.” He paused. “Try not to breathe,” he suggested. “You don’t need to, and you only do it out of habit. Smell will distract you.”

Hermione nodded. “Okay,” she said, closing her eyes again. Something expansive, he’d said. In her mind, she formed an image of an open field with grass that came to her waist, high enough to hide in. A breeze pushed the stray thoughts from her head as she focused on the field, the grass waving in the breeze, the peace that accompanied the image. 

They sat like that in silence for what felt like hours while Hermione perfected the image she had created. The wind rustling through the trees outside only helped her sink into the grassland. 

“Do you have it?” Sebastian asked finally. 

“Yes,” she said, opening her eyes and turning on her side to look at him. 

“Good. Work on this over the next few days. When you feel overwhelmed or upset, think of that place. It will help you to suppress some of your senses so you’re not always overwhelmed.” Sebastian rose from his chair. “I’ll be back next Thursday,” he said, nodding to her before going upstairs, presumably to speak to Elisaveta about the exercises despite the fact she had certainly heard it. 

Hermione lay on the couch for a long while, imagining the plain. She could almost feel the softness of the earth beneath her feet. On the plain, it was night. The moon was risen in her head, living in the same position it did on the Earth. 

As the days went on, Hermione attempted to employ this new mental strategy when she started feeling overwhelmed. Anger was the hardest to suppress, and unfortunately she’d developed quite a lot of it over the last few weeks. Being stuck indoors was hard, and everything was more difficult after her experience with Pascal. 

As Hermione continuously to unsuccessfully suppress the anger she had built up inside of her, she feared Sebastian’s reaction to her failure. What would he say? What if– and she feared this most– what if simply gave up on her and left? She couldn’t bear it. 

After days of agonizing over her inability to master this technique immediately, Hermione finally achieved it on Tuesday evening. She was in the midst of an argument with her mother over what station to play on the radio, and was acutely aware, even as she shouted at her mother, that her anger to the situation was disproportional. It felt like a fire had crawled up in her belly and was egging her on. The smell of her mother’s anger didn’t help in the slightest. Hermione knew she was going too far when she felt the familiar little ache in her teeth as her fangs unsheathed themselves from her gums. 

The plain, she thought to herself as she fought back the anger, the plain! She squeezed her eyes shut, and stopped breathing in order to focus. Hermione forced her mind to the tall grass, summoned the cooling breeze, and let it wash over her mind. Hermione buried the anger somewhere in the field, unwilling to let it control her moods any longer. As she did this, the fire in her smoldered and died out, the fangs retracted into her gums. Hermione let out a breath. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, opening her eyes. She blinked back tears that had welled up in the wake of her anger. “I didn’t mean to get so upset. I’m sorry.” 

Her mother’s face melted and she stepped forward to embrace Hermione. Hermione wrapped her arms around her mother loosely, afraid that if she tried to hug her as tightly as she used to, she would crush the woman. 

“It’s alright.” Hermione’s mother kissed the top of her head. “I know why you’re so upset. This can’t be easy for you.” 

Hermione shook her head. “It’s not.” She blinked back tears, trying to send them to the plain rather than let them fall. “It’s really not.” 

* * *

 

Sebastian came two days later at half past eleven. Hermione’s parents had already gone to bed, and she let Sebastian in, staring longingly across the dirt path that led to her home. She could feel the moon on the horizon as she could feel the breeze drifting through the summer night to brush her skin. He shut the door behind him with a raised brow. 

“Not yet,” he chastised, ushering her forward. “Soon, maybe.”

Hermione sighed and led the way to the living room, taking her customary seat on the sofa while Sebastian sat in the leather arm chair. ‘Maybe’ meant ‘not for a long while’– she was old enough to know that. 

“How have you been faring? Have you been practicing?” 

“Yes!” Hermione said with a wide grin. Her love of success was only rivaled by her love of books. “It was hard at first, but I finally got it on Tuesday.” She relayed the story to him, and watched as he sat back with steepled fingers. 

“You are moving through this more quickly than I thought you would,” Sebastian said. His eyes were calculating as he stared at her. “Perhaps it will soon be time for you to step outside again.” Hermione couldn’t suppress a smile. “But for tonight, we’ll continue working on this. Tomorrow after your parents have left for work, I’ll return with something that can help us progress further. For tonight, I think we’ll continue with this.” 

* * *

The next day, after Hermione’s parents had left for work, Elisaveta and Sebastian tested her skills at suppressing her bloodlust. Sebastian would uncover an airtight container of blood, and Hermione would attempt to control her thirst. 

At first, these attempts didn’t go well. Hermione was wrestled to the ground by Elisaveta more than once before she mauled Sebastian. It took nearly a full week before Hermione was able to concentrate through the red haze enough to stop herself. In two weeks, she could ignore the blood and control her breathing enough so that the smell of it didn’t trigger anything. Slowly, but surely, she was making progress. 

Hermione continued on in her lessons with Elisaveta, and Sebastian came occasionally to assist with physical training– namely, teaching Hermione to control her strength. Hermione didn’t trust herself enough yet to hug her parents safely, but at least she could hold a teacup without crushing it in her palm. 

Other lessons, held pretty much exclusively with Elisaveta, involved lectures on vampiric history, legends, vivid descriptions of the societies and settlements vampires had created all around the world, details about the magic vampires could weave (Hermione, for one, was excited to attempt any magic she could), along with some basic wizarding history. Everything was pure gold to Hermione. An entire world had just come into her reach, and she wanted nothing more than to grasp it with both hands and shake it until all it’s secrets fell out before her.

The best lessons included the magic Hermione had achieved at the beginnings of her new life. Elisaveta watched on as Hermione moved things without touching them. She sent salt-and-pepper shakers dancing along the countertops, flew books into her grasp, and once even made tea for her parents without touching a single thing. When she concentrated enough, Hermione could feel the thread inside her that bid the objects to move. Enthralled, Hermione often practiced this simple bit of magic late into the night. 

In the midst of all this, July ended and August turned to September, Hermione craved the outdoors. At first, she’d been alright not going outside. After all, the last time she went out, she’d been turned into a vampire. But something about the night called to her. The windows, having been blacked out with canvas to protect Hermione and Elisaveta during the day, shut off every sight outside of her home. Hermione could feel the moon rising and setting, traveling up and down the ridge of her still heart. It called her, and Hermione was half-mad with want to answer. 

When she questioned Elisaveta about it, she’d nodded knowingly, said all vampires felt the call, but also said the urge was easy enough to curb. Hermione, who had seriously debated bursting through the windows of her home to soak in the moonlight just the night before, was left a bit lost. The call was stronger than Elisaveta described, and yet that didn’t make sense. Everything she’d been told so far was true– why shouldn’t this be?

Slowly, it ate at her. One moment, she was sitting quietly in a chair, then she would look up to glance out the window, and nearly burst into tears at the sight of it covered in thick black canvas. In these moments, Hermione had to summon up the plain she’d built to keep herself from crying outright. The moon wanted her outside. And outside, Hermione would go. 

Her birthday came and went with little celebration– Hermione didn’t mind this, as she wasn’t one to throw a party for her birthday. All she wanted was a little extra attention, and some leeway for the day. She was given three books: _The Vampires Guide To Shadows_ by Count Viago, _Flight for the Fledgling Vampire_ by Vladislav Deacon, and _Shapeshifting: How and Why Vampires Can Change Form_ by Helen Rossi. Hermione read them quickly, but was cautioned by Elisaveta that she would have little success in achieving these things so young.

As October died, November began in all it’s chilled glory. Hermione gained more control of her newfound abilities, and finally, Elisaveta asked her parent’s permission to take her outside at night. 

“I don’t know,” Beatrice fretted. The three of them were sitting at the kitchen table while Hermione listened upstairs, nearly vibrating in excitement. “I know you’ll keep an eye on her, but those woods…that’s where it all happened.” 

Hermione supposed that was fair, but still– she needed to go outside, or she was going to lose her mind. 

“Better for her to face it now than years down the road,” Elisaveta said. “She can’t stay away from the woods forever. Besides, there’s no better place for a young vampire to run off that energy than in a forest, where she can jump and climb and run.” 

_Yes!_ Hermione mentally cheered Elisaveta on. 

“Hermione has always been very responsible,” Oliver pointed out. “And with Elisaveta, nothing terrible can happen to her.”

“That’s true,” Beatrice said, though her tone was strained. “It’s just…promise me you’ll make sure she comes back. I…I can’t lose her. I thought she was gone forever that day, and having kept her inside since then…it’s difficult. Just bring her back to us, please.” 

“You have my word.” Elisaveta’s voice was low. 

Hermione danced in glee at the thought of finally being able to go outside. She hadn’t seen anything but the house for so long! And the moon, the moon’s call would finally be answered. Perhaps the madness itching at her would fall silent once she saw it. 

That very night, as soon as the sun had set and before the moon had fully risen, Elisaveta took Hermione outside. The night air burst across her skin, not too cold despite the freezing temperatures. A layer of frost covered the dying grass. November was always chilly. Despite the darkness, she could see clearly. 

Hermione took a deep breath, relishing in the outside scent. She let her senses go, absorbing everything she could. How could she have taken going outside for granted all her life? It was wondrous, so open and free and wild. She could smell foxes in the forest, and deer, and snakes in their holes. Far away, an owl called into the night. 

“We will stick to the edge of the forest tonight,” Elisaveta said. Hermione looked up at the woman who had gone from her rescuer to her teacher and mentor. “No need to go very far in, especially not the first night that you’ll be out.” 

Hermione nodded. She could see the logic in that, even though she desperately wanted to run deep into the forest. 

“Remember, we are predators,” Elisaveta continued. They hadn’t moved off the back porch yet, and Hermione was itching to run. “It is our instinct to hunt, especially at night. You could hunt and kill an animal– though I don’t think you will find that appealing– but the easiest way to burn off that energy and instinct is to hunt another vampire. Playfully, of course,” she added hastily, seeing Hermione’s horrified look. “A game. Like two cats.” 

Hermione nodded. Elisaveta was right– the rising moon, the dark, the rustling of the grass, had all awakened a deep instinct inside of her. It was powerful, the urge to run silently through the night and search for a food source. But it was not untamable, as she’d already drunk enough to keep her sated (though not enough to fill her– it was never enough) and the plain was always available. “Who hunts who?” 

“You will hunt me,” Elisaveta grinned. “Like a game of hide and seek. We will run opposite directions. In five minutes time, you will begin to hunt, and I will attempt to evade your. This will be a good exercise in honing your senses as well. Tracking is a big part of a vampire’s job skills.” 

“Got it,” Hermione nodded. She’d had to re-think her future careers over the last few months. Of course, she wanted to be a scholar and do scientific research. Now, she wasn’t so sure what the market had open for her. 

“On my count,” Elisaveta said. “One…two…three!” 

Hermione dashed off into the night, relishing in the frosty grass under her bare feet. It was odd to not feel the cold of it, but rather the texture and feel. Wild happiness surged inside of her. The moon was rising with her heart.

Reaching the tree line, Hermione immediately leapt for a branch, instinctively wanting the high ground over Elisaveta. She moved from tree to tree, further and further from Elisaveta. Her scent was still on the wind, but vampire’s were fainter than humans. With a scowl, she realized Elisaveta would have the advantage of being downwind. Hermione’s scent would be easier for her to catch. 

Eventually, Hermione came to a stop, resting near the top of an oak. She could see across the entire field. Her house sat dark with the blacked out windows, except for her parents room which glowed a warm yellow. The field itself was empty. Hermione scanned the tree line opposite, looking for any sign of movement. There! Elisaveta was in the tree tops. A satisfied smile worked its way across Hermione’s face as hunter instincts kicked in. She was absolutely still, counting down the clock until she could hunt for her mentor.  

On the mark, Hermione slipped down the tree, careful to stay back from the line lest Elisaveta see her coming. She raced though the forest, silent as she could be. It was so _easy_ to avoid the hidden roots and holes; she was nimbler than she’d ever been before. Pausing, Hermione took a deep breath. Elisaveta was nearby. Hermione jumped upwards, into the trees. Elisaveta would have yet another advantage over her otherwise. 

Letting herself completely over to her instincts, Hermione slipped from tree to tree silently, creeping through them in search of her prey. Elisaveta’s scent had grown stronger– she was directly ahead! Hermione could see her with her advanced vision. She was crouched on a branch, looking over the field, no doubt scanning for Hermione.

Hermione pounced. Elisaveta had evidently known she was there, as she jumped out of the way nimbly. Hermione hit the ground with a growl. 

“You have got to be sneakier than that,” Elisaveta admonished. “If you want the advantage of surprise, first find out which way the wind is blowing.” 

“I noticed that after I’d already run the other way,” Hermione said. She jumped up the the branch Elisaveta was perched on, and sat cross-legged with her back against the trunk. “What if I don’t want the surprise? What if I want to just attack?” 

“Be faster, and stronger,” Elisaveta said. “We will go again. I will hunt you this time.” 

All night, Hermione hunted Elisaveta, and was hunted in return. The game of cat and mouse gave Hermione’s senses a rush; she wanted to be outside forever, running under the moon, bathing in the milky light. When the time came to go inside, dawn’s rosy fingers yawning over the horizon, Hermione went reluctantly. She knew the sun would hurt her, but she wanted to be wild forever. 

* * *

 

Hermione’s nightly lessons continued, and she loved them. These lessons were more than training. They were the only things that got her outside of her house and gave her some relief from the cabin fever she’d been slowly developing. She looked forward to them every evening with some reverence. 

Hermione’s ability to sit in the moonlight and let it wash over her, basking as a cat would in the sun, soothed the madness prowling in her heart. Existing was easier now. She likened herself to some sort of moth, drawn to light. But it still wasn’t enough. Though her intense need had been settled, there was still a yearning in her heart. Hermione didn’t know what to do, and Elisaveta maintained that as a nocturnal creature, her draw to the moon was only natural.

November passed. Hermione found herself missing the rest of the world. She sat for hours as the day passed, heart aching for nightfall. It gave her time to do her lessons for the day and read whatever she wanted freely, but she still loathed it. With nothing to do, she was growing restless. Often she ran the length of the house, trying to burn off the energy built up inside of her. It was maddening for her parents; Elisaveta had an endless well of patience somehow. But she needed out, in the full light of day. She needed to go somewhere, anywhere, for just a little while.

“Do other vampires want to be outside during the day?” Hermione questioned Elisaveta. They were outside, and Hermione was practicing her tracking. All her senses were keyed in on a single mouse burrowing in the field. 

Elisaveta shrugged. “Not the older ones,” she said. “They’ve grown used to their vampire life. Younger vampires, like you, remember the sun and the light more clearly– they miss it. Only the luckiest vampires are friendly enough with a talented wizard to have the charm performed on them.” 

They continued on, Hermione tracking the mouse’s little heartbeat as it moved through the field, scurrying across winter-thin blades of grass. 

“Besides,” Elisaveta added, “most of them can go places. You’re confined to the house. Restlessness is natural.” 

Hermione nodded, eyes fixed on the quick movements of the mouse in front of her. It was just restlessness, of course. 

* * *

 

Christmas was quickly approaching. Hermione made it no secret she wanted to go to her grandparent’s house, as they had for years, on Christmas day. 

“I want _one_ thing to be normal,” she’d told her mum. “Everything is changed. I can’t go outside unless it’s at night, I drink _blood_ , I have an uncontrollable urge to kill when you so much as cut your finger! I can’t even go to school anymore.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “I just want Christmas to be right,” she’d choked out. Her mother had pulled her into her arms, and hugged her tightly. 

“I know, baby,” she’d whispered, stroking Hermione’s curls. “I know.” 

A few days before Christmas, Hermione’s wish was granted. 

“We have a surprise for you,” Hermione’s mum sing-songed. Hermione had been called downstairs from doing her maths homework, and they were standing in the living room. 

“A surprise?” Hermione asked, hope ringing in her heart. A surprise, for Hermione, a few days before Christmas…

“A surprise,” her father nodded with a grin. Elisaveta was watching her with a funny little smile, sitting cross-legged on the armchair, much like Sebastian had months ago when Hermione was still learning to control herself. 

There was a knock at the door. 

“I’ll get that!” Her father jumped up and headed for the door. Hermione craned her head, watching him disappear into the foyer. Sunlight burst across the floor as he opened the door. Hermione let her senses open up. A curious smell permeated the house. It was slightly canine, but the most overpowering scent was that of the Dark and, somehow, the moon. Hermione furrowed her brow. What on earth could that be?  

“Hello, good afternoon. My name is Remus Lupin,” a man’s voice came. “Elisaveta sent for me?” It was a calm, warm voice– Hermione liked it immediately. 

“Oliver Granger,” her father replied. “Please, come inside. We’re all in the living room.” 

The door shut. Her father entered the room with a man definitely younger than her parents, but who somehow looked much older. He had sandy brown hair, and worn, odd clothes. The black cloak he unclasped and slid off her shoulders was decidedly shabby. 

“Remus,” Elisaveta greeted, fluidly rising from the chair. A warm smile crinkled at the corner of her dark eyes. “It has been quite a few years since I’ve seen your face!” 

“Elisa,” Remus smiled back, nodded to the older woman. “It has been, indeed. I was surprised, but very happy, to receive your letter! And this must be young Hermione,” he said, turning to face her. His eyes were warm. “My name is Remus Lupin.” 

“Hello,” she replied, feeling a bit shy. She hadn’t talked to anyone besides her parents, Sebastian, and Elisaveta for the last few months, after all. “I’m Hermione.” 

“This is the wizard I told you about back when you were turned,” Elisaveta explained. “We met years ago during….well, it was a dark time. We were allies.” 

“You’re a wizard?” she asked, excitement bubbling over her shyness. Here was another source of knowledge about the world she’d been thrust into. “Elisaveta’s told me all about the wizarding world! I can’t wait to see it for myself someday.” 

“Yes, I am,” Remus said. He took a seat beside Hermione at her mother’s beckoning. “I went to Hogwarts when I was young.” 

“I _wish_ I could go to Hogwarts.” She turned on the couch to face him. He was so interesting, this newcomer. Now that he was closer, Hermione could smell chocolate and butterscotch, woodsmoke and grass. “Elisaveta says I am– or was? Or maybe I still am– a witch!” 

“I would say you still are,” Remus said. His face was worn, but his eyes were youthful. “But Elisa and your parents called me here for a very different reason– do you know what it is?” 

“To cast the spell that will let me go out into the sun?” Hermione couldn’t contain the smile breaking across her face. To be outside, at last, in the broad light of day– she could hardly contain herself.

“Yes!” Remus pulled a long stick out of the pocket on his robe. “This is my wand,” he said, holding it up for her to see. Hermione studied it closely. Carved of a deep brown wood, it was thin, but Hermione could see it’s resiliency. There wasn’t a fracture or chip on the gleaming wand. The entire thing radiated magic, and she had to urge to take it herself, wave it around and do something. She fought that urge admirably. 

“Will it hurt?” Hermione asked. She hadn’t felt pain since that day in the woods, nearly five months ago. She doubted anything would compare to it, which had burned itself into her memory, but still. 

“Not a bit,” Remus assured her. “It’s very simple– you will feel a tingle when I cast it over you, but nothing painful.” 

“And this will allow her to go outside in the sun without harm?” Worry radiated off her mother. That was natural, Hermione supposed. Her parents hadn’t had the greatest experiences regarding Hermione and strange men. 

“Yes,” Remus affirmed. “It will last for about a year, and then I’ll need to come back and re-cast it. But, it will work.” 

If Hermione had a heart, it would be beating very quickly. “I haven’t seen the sun for ages…” She hadn’t seen _anything_ for ages– just her house and the backyard and the forest. And the moon, but that was more of a soul-soothing comfort than a sight to see. 

Remus’ smile was infectious. “That will soon be rectified,” he promised. He lifted his wand above Hermione’s head, and twisted his wrist as he brought it down to rest on her head, speaking the words Hermione would come to cherish: “ _Sol tueri.”_

Pale gold light burst from the wand and engulfed Hermione for a moment before it sank into her skin. It felt much like a thin fabric had been wrapped around her. The sensation dissipated after a few beats, and Hermione lifted her hands, small and frail-looking, to observe any physical change. Everything was the same. 

“Is it safe now?” Hermione asked, eyeing the black canvas nailed over the windows. “Really safe?” The sun, even as she cherished it in her mind (though not nearly as much as the moon), posed a threat to her safety. If this spell didn’t work, and she stepped outside– well, it wouldn’t be pretty. 

“It is,” Remus confirmed, amber eyes crinkling at the corners. 

Hermione stood upright, her heart set on the sun. The front door had never been further away. 

“Wait,” Elisaveta said. “We must go with you, Hermione. You have not yet been out with me. The sun brings different stimuli– we will accompany you.

“We’ll all go,” Beatrice seconded, rising to her feet. 

Hermione waited rather impatiently as her parents shrugged on their coats. It was December and cold, but Hermione wanted to see the sun and the cold had no affect on her anymore. 

With coats and gloves finally on, her mum offered her hand to Hermione, who took it despite her desire to break through the front doors and be free. 

“Ready?” Oliver’s grin was infectious. Hermione nodded, her eyes fixed on the front door. She had been ready for a long time. Oliver opened the door. 

Outside, it was glistening midday. The sun beamed down, throwing a brilliant glare off the blanket of snow covering the grass. The trees that blocked the view of their home from the road were shrouded in white. The light, wintry breeze brought the familiar scent of conifer trees, redwings, deer somewhere deep in the woods. She stepped out into the sun, marveling at the light heat warming her skin. Surely, this was magic, she thought, staring down at her hands, small and pale and open to catch a snowflake drifting down. It did not melt on her palm immediately, and she could clearly see the tiny, crystalline structure of it before the sun melted it. 

Remus ended up staying for lunch, a hearty onion soup that her mother made after she and Elisaveta took down the canvas nailed up over the windows. Hermione and her father built a snowman outside while she made it. At her mother’s call, they came inside, Hermione more reluctant than her father. But she would have more time outside now, she thought to herself as brushed snow from her shoulders. It would be better now. 

* * *

The next few days were rife with preparations. Her grandparents, whom she had spoken to over the phone many times over the last few months, had been worried sick about their granddaughter, and were delighted that she would be able to come for Christmas. Elisaveta went over her mental exercises with her nightly, making sure that Hermione could suppress any urge she had to bite and kill her grandparents. Elisaveta didn’t say that, but Hermione knew it was everyones fear., that being around people she hadn’t seen before would overwhelm her. 

But it wouldn’t. Hermione was confident in her abilities. She hugged her mother now without fear of crushing her, and was positive she could do the same for her grandparents. 

On Christmas Day, after her cup of blood was given to her, along with a package of something called bloop pops and a book on famous vampire women, Hermione, Elisaveta, Beatrice, and Oliver all piled in the car to go to her grandparent’s home. Elisaveta would be outside somewhere in case things went terribly wrong. 

The was more than an hour, but Hermione contented herself by staring out the window as they drove. She hadn’t seen anything but the her home and the surrounding area since July. It was a white Christmas this year– snow blanketed everything. 

When they finally pulled up to their grandparent’s house, Hermione could hardly contain herself. She hadn’t seen her grandparents (or anyone, really) in months! Not seeing them on her birthday this year hadn’t been easy. She loved her grandparents as much as any other young girl did. 

Her grandmother stepped outside to greet them, curly white hair cut shorter since Hermione had seen her last. Her red pantsuit was immaculate. Hermione jumped from the car as soon as her father put it in park, not bothering to heed Elisaveta’s warning, and raced for her grandmother, slowing herself only for her sake. 

“Grandma!” Hermione cried, throwing her arms around the older woman. Warmth, flour and sugar, honey, vanilla, and love clung to the older woman’s clothes. She was hugged tightly in return. 

“Oh, look at you,” her grandmother said, smoothing a hand over Hermione’s hair. “You’ve grown since we last saw you!” 

“I have,” Hermione said proudly. She had been happy to discover she’d grown almost a half an inch since July. 

Hermione’s parents finally arrived, her mother a few gift bags for her grandparents. She looked harried, but her face softened when she saw Hermione’s eyes were shining with unshed tears. Elisaveta was no doubt already hidden up in a tree. Hermione felt badly for her– she was going to be there all night for no reason. Hermione wouldn’t snap, not today.

“Goodness, darling, you’re freezing.” Her grandmother cupped her face, dropping a kiss on her forehead. “Why don’t we get you a blanket and set you in front of the fireplace with your grandpa, hm? He’s been dying to see you!” 

“That sounds wonderful,” Hermione agreed, happy to let herself be led inside. Today promised to be a good one, even if she couldn’t eat any of the food her grandmother had prepared. The house smelled like gingerbread and spruce, the fire was warm, and she was out of her home where she’d been trapped for the last few moments. “I missed you, grandma.” 

“I missed you, too, love.” Her grandmother’s arm tightened around her shoulder. “I missed you very, very much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! Updates will be sporadic. College life, man.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I wrote this a while ago, and have a second chapter in the works, but the updates will be somewhat sporadic due to a hectic college life. There might not be any updates at all if there's no interest in the story. But, I thought since I wrote it, I might as well put it out there! Let me know if you want to see more. :)


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